


Eternal Living On the Shard

by Theriverthewoods



Category: Original Work
Genre: Automaton, Blood, Gen, In Media Res, Science Fiction, Violence, eternal living
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 10:37:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20704598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Theriverthewoods/pseuds/Theriverthewoods
Summary: Baz and Ardon reach the castle.





	Eternal Living On the Shard

**Author's Note:**

> Hey I just thought I might post some original bits of stories as I go along here... Makes it all seem worthwhile to post it somewhere! Even though obviously I don't assume it'll get any hits. 
> 
> This is a section of a longer work about a failed assassination attempt which sets a violent revenge plot which has disastrous consequences for an entire country. (it's in its own universe tho)

Baz and Ardon are ambushed in the doorway of the castle on the hill.   
  
  
\----  
  
  
Baz watched as Ardon fell down to the hard marble floor. He had been stabbed, full and deep, in the chest. Ardon’s face turned to face him as he fell, his blackened hair twisting, long dark and tangled, in front of his eyes. Baz’ eyes were wide, they seemed to watch Ardon in slow-motion, he was almost frozen in midair, locked in time. His caved in, rounded shoulders, bent knees, feet tangled together in their desperate but futile retreat. His long, thin, perfect fingers stretched forward. His face slowly distorting into an expression of surprise and fury. Ardon blinked, his eyelids slowly coming down and back up.   
  
  
Baz waited, in this split second, for attention to be turned to them. They’d avoided the initial attack but now, obvious and stranded, alone, they would surely be next. Ardon plunged downwards like a stone thrown into a lake. His assailant lunging after him, moving by millimetres at a time, one hand gripping the hilt of the long, silver knife, knuckles white, ready to strike again and again before Ardon could even hit the floor. Baz could feel it, an inevitable pressure, an inevitable death. They waited for an eternity watching Ardon fall.   
  
  
Then, a breath of air around them. Baz’ peripheral vision was obscured. Curtains, as if flown into the set from the wings offstage, fluttered around their face, within inches. They blocked off the room, leaving only Ardon falling, directly in front.   
Red curtains. No.  
Black curtains. No  
Not curtains at all.   
Baz felt a chill run down their spine. They allowed themselves, secure in this split second where time stood still, to look up.   
Not curtains at all. Clothes.   
Baz looked up and felt and saw and understood. The tall, elegant, silver features and forms of the castle’s statues. The Living Automata. They had come around him, moving somehow imperceptibly, as if by magic, teleporting themselves around them. Obscuring them from the violence directly in front. The fluttering curtains, robes, intricately woven clothes, embroidered with patterns so intricate one could stare at them for days and never understand exactly what made up their design, gold thread and painted silks, still caught in the momentum of sudden movement, billowed at the edges of their vision.  
Baz dared not move. The Living Automata of the castle. A pure fantasy, a totem, simply a symbol for eternity. They were real, they were alive, and as Baz looked up into their painted faces, their shining, unmoving, surely unseeing golden eyes, knew that they thought Baz to be something worth protecting. Something belonging to them.   
They dared not move.   
Time returned.  
Ardon hit the floor with a thick, heavy sound. His head cracked on the stone floor.  
Baz dared not move.


End file.
